Man to Man
by akinosora01
Summary: [Complete][One-shot] 700 words. Yi Jung has a man-to-mean, heart-to-heart, talk with his infant son. Sequel (sort of) to Legacy. Yi Jung-centric.


Title: Man to Man

By: akinosora01

Category: Boys over Flowers

Status: Complete

Chapters: 1

Author's Note:

I'm back from my unintentional hiatus with a sequel to Legacy…sort of. It's not required for you to read "Legacy" before this, but reading and reviewing both would be greatly appreciated! ^.^

And, if anyone is curious, yes, I'm back to writing fanfiction. ^.^ Expect more in the near future.

Warning: drama?, fluff?

Disclaimer: I do not own Boys over Flowers, or anything from the Hana Yori Dango franchise, which the Korean drama is based on.

_Man to Man_

It's only 3:12 in the morning—more night than morning—when his son announces that he needs attention with insistent crying.

Yi Jung is wide awake at the first cry, and grimaces to himself. When Ji Hoo, already a veteran in the art of parenting, said that the first year wasn't easy, he wasn't kidding.

His wife shifts to his side with a moan, still wrapped in the wisps of sleep, and he gets out of bed with a tired sigh. No point in waking his wife when she spends all day with their son—and it's high time that he has a man-to-man talk with his son.

It doesn't take long to reach the nursery—and he's surprised to see his son sitting up by himself in the crib, tiny hands clutching the wooden rails and straining his tiny lungs in a series of hiccupping sobs.

_Could all five-months-olds sit up like this already?_ his mind whispers to him as he picks up his crying son with awkward hands. Unsure of what to do, he holds the bawling baby at arm's length, quietly panicking when his son, not comforted by his father's presence, continues to cry.

Not for the first time, Yi Jung wonders how people do it—how_ fathers_ do it. There must be some manual, some secret handbook to fatherhood that he didn't bother reading (never mind the pile of books on father he'd read in the secrecy of night). Or maybe he just wasn't cut out to be a father—how could he, with the father (or lack thereof) he had?

He suddenly shakes his head, despising the direction his thoughts seemed determined to head towards. And, suddenly, the baby's crying quiets.

He blinks, surprised at the sudden lack of wailing, and the baby blinks owlishly back at him. Slowly, hesitantly, he shakes his head again, and his son watches, fascinated, and then a sound like laughter bubbles in his tiny throat.

Encouraged, Yi Jung does it again, and it's not long before his son is cooing with happiness, already reaching to grab at anything to put into his mouth. Yi Jung manages to seat himself in the rocking chair his wife uses to feed their son, the baby seated in his lap, facing him.

"Now," he says in a conversational tone. "You and I are going to have a little man-to-man talk."

The baby only blows a spit bubble in response. Yi Jung sighs. "I didn't think that you'd really understand, but still, just listen, because I'll tell you this only once." He pauses, and takes a deep breath.

"I love your mother, more than life," he states with the utmost seriousness. As if sensing the gravity of the conversation, the baby pauses and looks up at his father with wide eyes. "More than you ever will, so don't ever think that you could win against me.

"That being said, don't hurt your mother. Ever. Because the day you do, if you ever make your mother cry, you'll have to answer to me. I've hurt your mother so many times already; she's had enough for one lifetime."

His son gurgles and blows a raspberry. Yi Jung smiles.

"Glad that we're on the same page," he says, satisfied, giving his legs a bounce. His son screeches in delight, waving chubby arms and kicking tiny feet. A smile tugs on his lips as he plays with his son, the bouncing rhythm slowly gentling to a slow rocking that tugs on the eyelids on father and son.

The first rays of the day's sun find them sound asleep in the rocking chair, son sleeping against his father's chest, identical features relaxed in slumber. The morning is all too eager to cast its gentle light on the pair, warming them as the clock's hands approach another busy day.

And if a mother, refreshed with a rare full night's worth of sleep, takes a picture of father and son sleeping together, she never mentions it at the breakfast table, where her husband hides a smile behind the newspaper behind a cup of coffee when his son recounts the conversation between him and his father with nonsensical gurgles to his smiling mother.

((((((((

::shrugs:: Rusty, but it's a start. What do you think?

Leave a review! ^.^ I always like to read what readers think.


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